


we might be dead by tomorrow

by lightngtheif



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Character Death, Death, F/M, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Not really though, annabeth really spirals in this one, entry for a fanfic competition on twitter, i really hope i win that dark fanfic thing but uhhhh maybe the angst corner??, just the events of hoo are completely erased but piper leo and jason are still there i guess, no seven, pipabeth but if you REALLY squint, some unstable minds, sort of character study i guess??, string of vignettes, this is really really sad but that what i like, this is shit and i wrote it in two days
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-23
Updated: 2020-06-23
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:35:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24869980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lightngtheif/pseuds/lightngtheif
Summary: One time, when Percy and Annabeth were younger, Percy had ruined one of her favorite books by soaking in it water when he had been mad at her because she had called him stupid. It had been childish, and Percy had been smiling like he had done something, like he had managed to hurt her feelings with his coltishly adolescent actions.He had. She hadn't admitted to it, because Annabeth had always been bad at that sort of stuff, but instead she had glared and told him that he was nothing but a stupid boy. That had gotten him even more riled up, and they had ignored each other for three days straight after.Even when it all had gone back to normal, Percy's smiles were strained and all Annabeth could think about was a single choice shall end his days, about how there was a scroll on the neck of a dead girl, because of course she had read the prophecy, and of course Chiron was right about her being too young for it.There had been a brand new hardcover copy of the same book on her bed a few days later, and Annabeth and Percy never spoke about it again.(The book Percy had ruined had been The Boy In The Striped Pajamas, and now that Annabeth thinks about it, it sort of fits.)
Relationships: Annabeth Chase/Percy Jackson, Nico di Angelo/Percy Jackson (One-Sided)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 41





	we might be dead by tomorrow

**Author's Note:**

> this is my entry for the twitter competition on pjo fanfics... enjoy!!! i guess. i wrote this in two days so it might be really shitty but my mind keeps going between thinking it's god's work and then wanting to burn it so u decide haha

The last time Percy and Annabeth ever talk is on the camp border, eyes all tired and glaring and red, and the last thing Annabeth ever says to Percy is good luck, because that way she won't have to say anything else. He looks at her and smiles, despite the fact that she's mad at him, and then turns away from her glaring eyes. 

Her breath hitches and there's something in her chest that tells her to stop him, but Annabeth has always been bad at that kind of thing, at really saying what she feels, at ever opening up, so she doesn't. She watches him walk with Grover into the distance until she can't see them anymore, and then she finally turns around and heads to her cabin, bile at the back of her throat.

One time, when Percy and Annabeth were younger, Percy had ruined one of her favorite books by soaking in it water when he had been mad at her because she had called him stupid. It had been childish, and Percy had been smiling like he had done something, like he had managed to hurt her feelings with his coltishly adolescent actions. 

He had. She hadn't admitted to it, because Annabeth had always been bad at that sort of stuff, but instead she had glared and told him that he was nothing but a stupid boy. That had gotten him even more riled up, and they had ignored each other for three days straight after. 

Even when it all had gone back to normal, Percy's smiles were strained and all Annabeth could think about was a single choice shall end his days, about how there was a scroll on the neck of a dead girl, because of course she had read the prophecy, and of course Chiron was right about her being too young for it.

There had been a brand new hardcover copy of the same book on her bed a few days later, and Annabeth and Percy never spoke about it again.

(The book Percy had ruined had been The Boy In The Striped Pajamas, and now that Annabeth thinks about it, it sort of fits.)

They have a funeral, but it's not at camp, because Sally wants him to be buried in the cemetery next to her parents, but the demigods still burn a pyre, hough she isn't there for it. Annabeth doesn't really remember the important bits, but rather the overwhelming urge to vomit and cry, but she does remember sitting and staring at his casket after the service is over, waiting for him to burst through the doors like he did all those years ago, with some magical explanation on his lips, smiling, hair ruffled and messy.

He doesn't.

Instead, the doors open slowly and Nico di Angelo slips through the cracks, eyes red with tears and mouth trembling. He sits next to her and his hands turn white from clenching the seating too hard. He looks at her but she doesn't meet his eyes.

"I saw him," he says, and Annabeth can tell by his voice that he's on the verge of crying. "He's in Elysium."

Annabeth stares at her hands and fails to register his words. She wants to ask him why he's here; why he even bothered to show up to the service, but all she can muster is a hum of breath. Her eyes slide down to Nico's hands, but she can barely see them. Perhaps he is not there at all.

"Did he say anything else?" her throat forces out, all hoarse and whispery. She has not cried yet. Crying means acception. She knows the stages of grief. They are etched into her heart. Nico shuffles next to her, quiet, too quiet. He sighs, but the air trembles, tight and uncomfortable, like a rubber band stretched too far.

"He's waiting for you," he answers.

Annabeth's breath trembles for the thousandth time, and she turns to looks at him, but before she can say anything Nico di Angelo slips through the cracks, into the shadows, and perhaps he was never there at all.

She sits at the service for two more hours before Sally comes back and drives her to her and Paul's apartment, where Percy's room is closed unnaturally. Annabeth sleeps in the guest room, and the next day she goes back to camp and rereads the entire book collection in the Athena Cabin.

Summer ends and Annabeth stays, but so does Percy.

Annabeth tries to draw something; a statue, a building, something to honor him, but every time she does it falls apart in her hands like loose string. She tries to draw something for Olympus but it comes out scraggly and wrong and bent in all the atrophied places; something out of a nightmare.

Her failed sketches stare at her out of the corner of the room like a memory she can't forget, and Percy's last smile is etched into the backs of her eyelids like glue. She can't sleep, so she draws, but everything looks wrong. Her brothers and sisters try to cheer her up the first few weeks, but then their eyes are tired and they give up. 

Annabeth stays and draws. The garbage bin the corner of the room overflows with crumpled paper. Grover is nowhere to be seen. Nico di Angelo disappears again, and Annabeth draws. She doesn't cry.

Chiron comes into the cabin one day, eyes tired but smile as warm as ever. You need to take a break, he says, hands stopping hers and forcing her to look at him. His eyes are brown and Annabeth can see the sorrow floating around in them, and then Annabeth thinks about Percy again and turns away. 

"I have a sighting of a demigod in Nevada," he says, and bites his lip. "Clarisse is going there to help the satyr Reed bring them back here. Would you... join her?"

Annabeth doesn't meet his eye and shakes her head. Her hands tremble so hard that she digs her nails into her palms to try and keep them steady. Instead, her arms shake.

Chiron sighs and turns around, so much like Percy had done, and a shiver passes through Annabeth. She picks up her pencil again. 

Chiron doesn't come back to her cabin, but instead throws her sad looks from across the table when she manages to drag herself out and eat. It's better this way, she convinces herself. 

It's the end of October when Annabeth is by the water eating chips at three am when Athena appears out of the corner of her eye. She supposes it's supposed to make her jump, but she's too tired and the bags underneath her eyes are too big to to anything, so she only looks at her with confusion, and Athena doesn't look at her at all.

Annabeth doesn't call her mom. She doesn't really think she's ever learned that title — none of the gods really have. She doesn't blame them, but it gets depressing at times. Annabeth shoves the chip bag towards her in an offering, because she doesn't really know what to do when gods are around her. Usually it doesn't end well.

Athena ignores the bag. She's dressed in a white sundress that reaches to her ankles, and when Annabeth looks at her face, she looks almost human, but then she moves and the moonlight hits her eyes and Annabeth is reminded that she isn't. A shiver passes through the base of her spine.

"You haven't been sending in any ideas for Olympus," her mother says, voice strict but casual, quiet but loud. Annabeth sinks further into Percy's old blue hoodie. It doesn't smell like Percy anymore because she wears it too much, but she supposes it still holds resemblance to him. It's not like he would mind, anyway.

"I've been busy," Annabeth answers, voice hoarse. She looks back at the sand that sits around her toes. It's not really an answer, because the answer is too big, too loud, and too accepting for Annabeth, because she's always been bad at this kind of stuff.

"He's just a boy," Athena retaliates, grey and stone cold. "Just a human boy."

Annabeth thinks grey and stone cold are all the gods are ever going to be. She picks her chip bag back up and stands up on the sand, turns away and walks away from Athena. It might not end well, but she finds herself not caring.

"You should go on that quest with Ares's daughter, child," Athena says, and even though she's ten feet away, her voice is close to Annabeth's ear as if she is inside her head. 

She doesn't go on the quest. Clarisse takes a boy named Ron from the Apollo Cabin and they stay gone for two weeks, but when they come back Ron's arm is missing and there's three kids trailing after Clarisse with something close to wonder on their faces, and there's a tug in Annabeth's chest that tells her to to tell them to get out of here, get gone, stay gone —

Annabeth doesn't tell them anything. She doesn't show them around. She goes back to her cabin and draws.

Annabeth is sketching a bent building that looks to be erasing away on itself when the new girl walks in, because that's all she ever does. She's pretty, the new girl, the kind of pretty that Percy was sometimes. Innocent and pure but heart wrenching at the same time. Her hair is done up into a ponytail that would've looked ugly if she wasn't a daughter of Aphrodite, adorned in everything beautiful in the world, and Annabeth thinks that she hates her in that moment.

"What are you drawing?" she says, and her voice sounds like silk with a little bit of rips in between. Annabeth ignores her, and her shades in a part of the building a little bit too hard. She hears the girl shuffle around.

"Who's this?" she asks, and Annabeth turns her head around to look at what she's pointing.

It's a picture of Percy, because of course it is. Her breath stops in her throat; the girl's prepared them both for defeat, for rage to take over and burn everything to the ground. The girl meets her eyes with a question in her eyes, and she waits, and there's a clock ticking inside of Annabeth's head that's counting down the seconds before everything goes to wrong again. 

She wants to yell, but instead she blinks and wills the clock to slow down. Breathe. In and out, in and out, in and out —

"My boyfriend, Percy."

"Oh, where is he?" the girl asks, and Annabeth stares at her and realizes that she still hasn't cried. It's been two months, three weeks, and twenty-seven days and Annabeth still hasn't cried. Something about it seems childish, like picking the wings off a butterfly and watching to see if it'll fly again.

"He's dead."

The next time Annabeth sees the girl (Piper, her name is) is when they have a Capture The Flag game a week later, because Camp Half Blood is used to people dying. Annabeth used to think she was too. Will drags her out and forces her to play; she's not a big fan of Will being mad and what will it hurt? So she joins a team and stays guard on the side of the river.

Part of her blankly remembers this is where Percy got claimed, but she blocks the memory out of her mind and focuses on the way the water ripples.

Something pokes her back.

It's one of the Ares campers; he's got a smirk on his face and his face clearly suggests that he wants to fight. Annabeth stares at him with disinterest. He pokes her again, and this time it hurts.

They sit quietly, the air tight and tense like a rubber band stretched far too wide. Annabeth thinks that it'll always be like this; sitting too far apart, cold nights and eyes too dry and words on the tip of tongues that burn when you try to say them.

Her hands are tied against the pine tree with Piper's old hoodie, charmed into submission with words she knows only matter in that exact space and time, and nowhere else. Piper will never mutter them again, and she will never again believe them.

She hadn't known that lies had a taste. Piper's lies taste like fresh honey... or, better, like the cheap candy Annabeth's dad used to buy her at run down diners around the block, the ones that tasted like fake sugar and rotten strawberries. Sweet at first but stomach-churning if you ate too much. They left a bitter aftertaste that Annabeth can feel on her lips as she looks at Piper sitting across from her.

The last drop of adrenaline is fading from her veins, exhaust taking over instead.

"I'm sorry," Piper says, voice jagged and shaky. "About Percy."

"At least he's in Elysium," Annabeth jokes, but her voice is apathetic and humorless, eyes bored. Piper flinches back against her gaze as she turns to look at her. There's blood and grime under neath Annabeth's fingernails from where she scratched the boy, and Piper eyes them with fear in her eyes. 

They sit like that for a while. Piper looks nice in the firelight, Annabeth thinks, a passing thought.

"When did he die?" the other girl asks, voice quiet.

"Summer."

"Oh, I'm sorry."

"Why do you care?" Annabeth suddenly says, words harsh. "You didn't even know him. I hate it when people say that. I'm sorry. What are you sorry for?"

I don't know, Piper wants to say. I don't really know anything. Annabeth turns away and looks at at the campfire again. Her eyes are big and angry and orange in the light, but she sits close to the fire, unmoving against it. It makes Piper feel like a coward, strangely.

Piper visits from then on. It's not normal, and it won't ever be normal, but it's the closest Annabeth can get to. Without Percy.

She hears the news from Piper first, and even though she and him aren't close, she still rushes out and bursts into the infirmary with a crazed look in her eyes.

Will catches her, and digs his fingers into her arms. "Annabeth, now's not the time."

Annabeth and Nico aren't close. But she isn't stupid.

Will comes out two hours later with a grim look on his face and bags under his eyes. She stands up from her spot on the grass and looks at him expectantly, and when he sighs and comes closer, putting a hand on her shoulder, the impact makes her realize how cold it is outside.

"He's awake," Will starts, and bites his lip. He's exhausted. "But, um, he's not very stable. Mentally."

"What do you mean?" her voice is a little bit too high when she says it, and she digs her fingernails into her palms.

"He, um, tried to do a ritual?" Will says, but it comes out as a question. "Eye for an eye."

Annabeth and Nico are not close. But she isn't stupid.

Will only lets her in two days later, which is when he deems that Nico is allowed to have visitors. She doesn't know what she expects him to look like, but she can barely see his arms and there are bags under his eyes like he hasn't slept in a month. Annabeth thinks he looks sick.

He looks at her when she first walks in and then promptly scoffs, loud and annoying and Annabeth is reminded that Nico is a child bred by war and destruction. That he wasn't always like this.

"You fucking dumbass," Annabeth says, and then throws herself into his arms. "I hate you."

He freezes under her touch. 

"'m sorry. I just really wanted him back." Nico whispers, so quiet that Annabeth almost misses it.

Annabeth and Nico aren't close. But he's the only person who understands. The way he says it when he confesses seems dramatic. Annabeth’s not stupid. She’d seen his looks across the years. The eyes, the words, the blushing cheeks and the avoidance. 

They summon him on a bright clear morning. Nico pours Happy Meals down into the earth and his hair is so greasy at that moment that Annabeth wants to shave it off. When the figure appears, he smiles at her and walks into the shadows, and slips between the cracks.

Annabeth looks at him smile at her, all teeth because Percy was never good at smiling, and thinks with the entire force of the burden of Atlas, I miss you, I miss you, I miss you.

She reaches out to him, but her hand passes through like he's made of clouds. He smiles awkwardly at the gesture, and giggles like they're children again, stuck in a van with animals and exchanging stupid words that mean a lot more than they would like to admit.

He smiles at her, and Annabeth cries. Tears slide down her cheeks and on to the ground and Percy pouts at it, but she cries and cries and cries until her eyes are red and her cheeks are pink and she can't cry anymore.

"I loved you, I really loved you," Annabeth says, and new tears roll down her cheeks again.

He smiles at her, but it seems a little sad. "I know you did. I loved you too."

And Annabeth thinks about them as children, because then it seemed so simple, and so childish, him the son of Poseidon and her the daughter of Athena, on quests together, but together nonetheless.

Percy looks at his wrist like he's checking the time. "I have to go."

He smiles at her again like he's not dead and she's not here and for a second Annabeth believes it. For a second.

"I'll wait for you!" he says, and she starts crying again. He pouts at her, and his arms are slowly fading away. "Don't cry. It'll be okay."

And Annabeth laughs, but it's a little bit sad, and he smiles again.


End file.
